


The Way to Her Heart

by GlowAmber



Category: Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Day of Hearts, Gen, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowAmber/pseuds/GlowAmber
Summary: She doesn't like love letters, but she thinks she'll keep these ones.[A drabble exploring the rose in Under Raps.]





	The Way to Her Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't believe the rose in Under Raps that we see Cass keep is from Andrew/Hubert, and we know its important and will come up again later. This is my little idea about where it came from.

Every four days, the messenger came with a new letter for her and a smile on his face. It was the same man, every time, with the same folded envelope and the same red wax seal. The regularity of it was almost comforting, she liked schedules and routines, and the content of the letters never failed to excite her-- just not for the reasons the messenger thought.

Yes, her face lit as she took the missives. Yes, she was giddy the day they arrived. And yes, oh yes, she always slipped off to her room to read through them as soon as possible. Her motives were not those of a woman in love, not in the slightest, but of a woman hungry for the truth. 

She tore the sentences apart when she was alone, laughing viciously at his spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. He had written every word to entice and delude her, failing to realize she had been onto him from the first letter that her father had told her to throw away. Bibliophile, indeed. He couldn’t even spell the word.

He told her of his rescue animals, as if she would enjoy knowing about that, of the charitable missions he undertook. Lies, she knew, she had no faith in him. He was a criminal and not the type who was redeemable. His was not born of need or survival, but of deluded and misplaced nationalism. Seporia didn’t exist anymore, had peacefully and lovingly conceded to Corona in marriage, but Andrew? Andrew believe he could bring it back.

Idiot.

Just like the rest of his letters, she mocked him in her mind, burnt it like the trash it was, and then wrote her reply. Pretty lies for pretty lies, he wanted to entice her into a trap, but she was already tightening his noose.

\----------------

The messenger came with a letter but the smile on his face was confused. The Day of Hearts was rapidly approaching, she’d already received Andrew’s promise that he was coming to visit and see the book, so she was uncertain why she’d be getting another one. The timing was off, the parchment odd, and the wax seal was sloppy and uncolored. Still, she took it, curiosity bubbling up within. She didn’t often get letters, not if they weren’t from the Seporist.

She did not rush back to her room, this time. She tucked it into her dress, the feel of the course parchment itching at her constantly and reminding her it was there. Rapunzel had realized she was distracted, several times over, but Cassandra could say nothing in reply. She worried her lip between her teeth, wondering about the uneven shaky writing on the front that spelt out her name with such… fondness.

When she was alone, at last, she kicked her shoes off and settled into her bed. A dagger from under her pillow lifted the wax, and why was she so careful about this? She didn’t wish to knick the paper, to rush it, for some reason. 

Andrew had sent her flowery letters, full of falsities and prose built up on the lies she’d fed him. This? Her eyes skimmed and then she felt her ears burn as she went straight back to the top. This was a true love letter. They spoke of her strength, of the flash of her eyes as she lunged for a strike, of the curve of her biceps and shoulders as she tossed opponents like ragdolls. Despite the poor uneven handwriting, the sentences were perfect and the spelling impeccable. Everything was said with care, with purpose.

She laughed, nervous, stunned by the description of the beauty that her admirer found in her power and skill. It was flattering, there was no other words for it. They signed no name, which made her heart pound more insistently. She didn’t like people, it took time for her to find attraction and she’d still to find someone that she actually enjoyed-- but this… There were no expectations, no requests. Just a long list of what they found appealing of her, and they were all things she loved about herself, too.

This letter … did not go into her candle flame. She folded it neatly, pressed it back into its homely little envelope, and tucked it away in her keepsakes chest.

\----------------

On the Day of Hearts, she found a rose and a piece of familiar parchment tucked away in the crease of her door. Hubert was still on her mind and she had a mind to tear it apart without reading before the scratched letters of her name caught her eye.

Oh.

The tension drained as she carried the rose in and flipped the single sheet of parchment open, her lips pulled in a pleased smile. They wrote to her, again, of her prowess and ability. There was pride in how she handled herself, how clever and capable she was. She could do anything if she wanted, the letter promised, and they were eager to see her in action once more.

This letter, she saved with the other. This rose, she tucked away to admire. They were worth keeping.


End file.
